


A Forgotten Life

by fallofthereichenbach



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, amnesia au, hospital au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-04-20 14:23:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4790579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallofthereichenbach/pseuds/fallofthereichenbach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Spoilers for basically all of Supernatural up until about season 7)</p>
<p>One day, Dean Winchester suddenly wakes up in hospital with no idea of how he got there. </p>
<p>Apart from a few terrifying nightmares that surely can't be real, he has no idea about his life before.</p>
<p>And the attractive Doctor Novak who seems way too familiar isn't exactly helping things...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I seem to be always starting new fics and just not finishing my older ones... This one will probably be quite short, but it will be at least a few chapters long!
> 
> (I apologise in advance - I'm trash and I'm not too great at writing) 
> 
> Enjoy!!

_Running. Sprinting through a forest. Brambles and bushes and trees catch at the clothes, only to be shoved away. Dark shapes loom ahead - just plants, or something more sinister?_

_Chasing or being chased?_

_There are screams behind and in front. Running towards or away from whatever's causing them?_

_Breathing coming in short gasps, heart pumping, legs burning. Can't stop. Won't stop. Have to get there._

_A voice calls from far away. A panicked scream of pain and fear - "Dean!"_

 

_The scene changes._

 

_A woman wakes to the sound of a baby crying. She sighs, goes to get up. Her husband isn't in the bed - maybe he's already gone to check on him?_

_Suddenly she's in the room, staring in sick horror at the hooded figure standing over the cot. The baby is still crying. The figure is not her husband._

_An unstoppable forces pushes her into the wall and up, onto the ceiling. She can see her little baby boy, quiet now, looking up at her. The cloaked figure stands for a second and then in a flash he is gone._

_Fire. Red, orange, yellow. Hot. Pain. Flames lick at the ceiling, eating away at the poor woman's flesh. There is a shout - not from her, as the figure's force has crushed her voice. A man runs into the room, blinded by the heat and red hot flames. He grabs at the cot, pulls the baby from it._

_"Take your brother outside as fast as you can. Now, Dean!"_

_He hands the bundle of baby and bedclothes to another child, no older than four. The boy stumbles, and runs in despair and fear. The man tries madly the get high enough to save his burning wife._

_It's too late._

_She is dead._

 

Dean awoke with a start, shaking in cold sweat. He could still feel the burning heat, as if he too had been submerged in a sea of flames. It took him a few seconds to realise he wasn't in that fiery nursery with the dying woman anymore.

He was lying on a bed, underneath stiff, blue sheets. The walls were white and empty. The floor was boring grey tiles. There were beeping machines surrounding him, and he was hooked up to some of them. The smell in the air was clean, sterile and familiar.

He was in a hospital.

Dean shook his head, trying to dislodge the images of the dark forests and burning rooms that were stuck in his mind. Shouldn't those dreams already be fading from his memory, as dreams always do? If they were only dreams.

He tried another tactic to distract from the horrific scenes swirling around his brain. He studied his surroundings, trying to think of the reason he was currently lying in a hospital bed. Trying to remember the series of events that had led him there. Trying to remember anything.

Nothing.

His mind was blank, wiped clean of all memories.

Dean felt panic rising in his chest, and tried hard to stifle it. His heart was pounding, his eyes were burning, and he didn't know where he was or why he was there.

Where was the forest in his dream? What was he running from, or to?

Who was the woman who burnt up on the ceiling? What happened to the baby and the little boy and the father? Who was the anonymous figure who caused all that pain?

He knew that his name was Dean, the same way he knew that he was in a hospital - instinct, a cold distant memory. But he had no last name, and no other applicable knowledge.

A lump rose in his throat, and he closed his eyes. He had to calm down. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. Wherever he was, whoever he was - he couldn't afford to lose it completely.

 

His attempts at calmness were interrupted by the sound of the door to his room opening. He reluctantly opened his eyes, and sat up.

In front of him stood a pretty young woman with soft blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail that had little strands framing either side of her face. She was wearing nurse's scrubs and a cheery smile. Her brown eyes were bright, and her face was kind and smooth. She looked about twenty years old.

"Oh good, you're awake! I'm afraid we haven't really had a chance to be acquainted. My name's Nurse Sparrow, and it's good to finally see you conscious," Nurse Sparrow spoke quickly but brightly. She bustles about for a minute or so; straightening the table by Dean's bed and opening the curtains. Then she stood and looked at him. She brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and tucked it behind her ear slightly nervously. She seemed nice enough, and when she extended her hand to Dean, he shook it warily.

Something told Dean that if the circumstances were different, he'd probably be trying to chat her up. But he was just tired. He wanted to know what had happened.

"Yeah, okay, it's... great to meet you, lady. But why am I here? In a hospital? And... erm... Who am I?"

Nurse Sparrow's smile faded slightly.

"You don't remember?"

"No. I don't remember anything since I woke up in here."

"Well... I'm afraid I can't tell you much. A lot of it is classified Patient Information that can only be shared with a Doctor present... But your name is Dean Winchester, going by identification we found. Umm... You've been in a coma, after a nasty bout of pneumonia. You're looking better now, though."

Dean groaned. A coma? Great.

"How long have I been here for?"

"Erm... You've been in hospital for roughly four months, I'd say."

"Four months? In a coma? In hospital?"

"I know this will probably come as a shock to you, Dean. But don't worry - you are in excellent hands here in hospital. You'll be completely healed in no time, I'm sure... Though... You really can't remember anything?"

"I didn't know my own last name before you just said it."

"Oh Dean," Nurse Sparrow murmured sympathetically, "I'll get a Doctor to come talk to you, don't you worry. A lot of traumatic events and illnesses can trigger amnesia. I'm sure there'll be a way to help you."

She stood for a few minutes and smiled at him, as if she was trying to study him and be nice about it. Then she quietly backed out of the door and left.

Dean sighed in relief, and leaned back so that he was lying down again. His head was starting to ache with all the stupid questions swirling in his head. He didn't want to sleep though, in case the nightmares returned. He didn't want to relive the woman's death.

He wasn't going to sleep.

He wasn't going to sleep.

He wasn't...

 

_A lorry, speeding out of nowhere and smashing into an old-fashioned car. The beefy lorry driver had eyes that were black and expressionless. He wasn't human._

_Pain exploding all over Dean's body._

_Back in hospital. Unconscious again, but looking down at himself like a ghost. A reaper, a monster shaped like a young woman, leading him to his death. He didn't want to go - couldn't leave... someone._

_A man, younger than him yet taller. Longish hair and big brown eyes. Eyes that used to laugh, but now were filled with pain as he looked at the sleeping form of Dean lying on a hospital bed._

_The older guy from Dean's previous dreams was there too. There was sadness and something else in his eyes as he looked at Dean - guilt? Horror? Then he started a fight with the younger man, and Dean wanted to scream at both of them. But even then he was just a ghost. They couldn't hear him. They weren't listening. He wasn't really there, he never had been._

_Yellow eyes glinted at him from the dark abyss of all the missing memory._

_There was a blood-curdling scream._

_A polystyrene cup of coffee spilled on the floor._

_The older man, with greying hair and unhappy eyes set deep in his weary face, lay slumped against a hospital bed._

_Sleeping? Please be sleeping._

_Dead._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares, hospital food and Doctor Sexy (not really but I had to put in the reference somewhere)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!!!

_An old abandoned town. The buildings seem to whisper of death and suffering. It's dark, even in the middle of the day. Locals say the town is haunted. They are right, to an extent - haunted by the ghosts of memories and stories and thoughts of what could have been._

_Six people walk the ancient streets, looking over their shoulders constantly for some unseen threat. They aren't here by choice. They are here to fight, to the death. Fight for the privilege of leading an army. Fight for yet more fighting._

 

_Suddenly, six become one staggering figure. He is clutching his stomach, and crying out. There is blood. So much blood. Pouring red and bold and unashamed. Pulsing with every beat of the dying boy's heart._

_Dean runs towards him, screaming one single word that even he can't quite make out. He holds the boy, just holds him. There is nothing he can do to ease his pain, to stop any of this happening. So he just holds him, and feels him take his final shuddering breath._

_Then he is still. He is gone._

 

_A wink of glowing red eyes this time, and the boy wakes up. Wakes up in a bed not his own, with no knowledge of what happened. He does not know how close he came to staying in the blank oblivion of death._

_Dean feels the painful relief flood through him. He is back, he is safe. Dean has saved him from a deadly fire yet again._

_But still a countdown ticks and tocks behind his eyes. A whisper, a promise, a deal..._

1 year... 1 year... 1 year...

 

Dean floated back to consciousness with tears flowing freely down his face this time. He wiped them away with a hand that didn't feel quite like his, and stretched.

Then he reached for the notebook one of the nurses found for him, and jotted down a few notes about his latest dream, wincing slightly at the memory of the death and pain of it. He found that the nightmares generally repeated for a few nights, and then they would suddenly change. Something deep inside him wanted to remember them, for there was something important about them. They couldn't be his real memories, of course - there were monsters and demons and ghosts in them. They were just dreams. But he kept writing them down, even so.

After writing as much as he could remember, he put the notebook away and instead reached for the newspaper that had been placed neatly on the table by his bed. Without thinking about it, he immediately turned to the Obituaries and Missing Persons page. Then he shook himself mentally - it was way too early in the morning to be reading about stuff like that. Why would he even want to look at those pages? He forced himself to turn to the Sports section.

Next to the newspaper sat a tray. On the tray sat a plate carrying two slices of toast spread with jam and butter like congealing blood, and a cup of tea.

He took a bite of the toast, and then immediately cringed and put it back. It tasted like cardboard smothered in strawberry jam. Not particularly pleasant.

"Unfortunately the food isn't too great here, so I've been told."

The deep, gravelly voice made Dean jump and look up. In front of him stood a man, though how he got there so quietly, Dean had no idea. He was wearing a white shirt and navy tie that wasn't quite tied straight, and a long white overcoat - he was a doctor, then. He had dark hair, slightly swept back and tousled, and the bluest eyes in existence. Seriously, they were the colour of the sky on a peaceful summers day, and the colour of the sea after a raging storm and the colour of a thousand other cliches like that. But they were beautiful.

"I know you," Dean blurted, then he frowned. Where had those words come from? He couldn't know this guy, he'd never seen him in his life. Or at least, his life that he could remember (which admittedly wasn't much). But surely he'd remember a guy with blue eyes like that.

"I don't think you do," said the doctor after a minuscule hesitation, in a slightly softer, more gentle voice. A sad kind of smile pulled at his mouth, "I never forget a patient."

Dean nodded vaguely. The doctor probably thought he was mental. He, Dean, wasn't going to rule out the possibility yet.

"Mr Winchester-"

"Call me Dean."

Something shifted slightly behind the doctor's eyes. A look of... something indescribable passed over him. Then he took a breath and continued as if nothing was amiss.

"Dean, then. My name is Doctor Novak. I'm going to be you doctor for the duration of your hospital stay - which hopefully won't be long, will it?"

Dean didn't really know how to respond, so he just shook his head. Doctor Novak continued,

"So. How are you, Dean?"

"Erm... Yeah, not too bad," Dean shrugged. He honestly had no idea what to say. How do you answer a question like that when you're in hospital and you don't even know why?

Doctor Novak consulted a clipboard that he seemed to produce from nowhere.

"Well, it says here that you appear to be unable to remember anything about your life since you woke up in hospital five days ago. Do you want to explain further?"

"That's just it, really. I can't remember... Anything."

The doctor nodded, and seemed to try another tactic.

"Dean, four months ago, you were found unconscious on a hillside by a group of hikers. You had nothing except you clothes you were lying in and a drivers license in your pocket. By our estimates, you had been out there for at least two days. Of course, this led to a severe case of pneumonia, and you were brought here. Unfortunately, your situation worsened and you went into a steady coma. Then five days ago you woke up with no memory of anything. Is any of this sounding familiar at all?"

Dean shook his head, bewildered. What had he been doing, passed out on a hillside for a couple of days? That must have been some wild night out.

"Do you know what else is... Odd, though?" Doctor Novak said, staring directly at Dean, "The hill where you woke up. It's surrounded by miles of forest, with no nearby towns for ages. How did you get there on your own with no map? And... I hate to say this, but no one's reported you missing. It's like you just appeared from nowhere."

Something itched behind Doctor Novak's words. Dean could feel it; some hint of knowledge, just out of reach. A sense of hopelessness came over him. He just wanted to remember.

"This will be a lot to take in, I'm sure," Doctor Novak said, as if he could read Dean's mind. He smiled his sad smile that didn't quite reach those eyes of his, and went on, "But you don't happen to remember any of this, do you? It hasn't jogged your memory, as such?"

"Unfortunately no, Doc. Trust me, I really wish I could."

"Well, don't worry. There are many behavioural therapy schemes specified towards the retrieval of memories that are offered here. And many cases of traumatic amnesia are resolved within a few weeks."

"I hope so."

Doctor Novak nodded, and gave Dean one last, long look. There was a feeling in it - almost a longing for something missing. Dean didn't quite understand it, so he dropped his gaze back to the newspaper in his lap.

By the time he looked up again, Doctor Novak had disappeared.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To hell and back

_The barking of invisible wolves... The growling... The hot, disgusting breath... The screams of pain as claws rip at his clothes and flesh... A woman's laughter, a man's cries..._

_"Sic 'em, boy."_

_Screaming... His screams, or someone else's? Teeth and paws tearing at him... Pulling him down... Down... Down... Down further than it should be possible to go..._

 

_He is on a rack. A criss-cross of wires scratch his bloody skin. The metallic red liquid stings in his mouth. Every inch of his body is shrieking out in fear and pain. He can't think straight - he just wants to die, just wants this all to be over. But it can't be. It will never be over._

_More laughter. A man's this time; shrill, harsh, cold, and definitely insane. Other worldly and evil. Words whisper at him from the dark that stretches all around. They talk of more pain, of monsters just waiting to hurt him even more. Then they hiss of deals, of a way to stop his suffering. But he knows he can't accept it. A deal is what got him here._

_But still he screams. Nonsense sounds and curses spill from his mouth with the saliva and blood. One word, amongst all of the sobs, is distinguishable and understandable._

_"SAMMY!"_

_The debt has been collected._

 

Dean awoke, still shrieking that one word. His eyes still saw the wires, the blood, and the murky darkness filled with moving shadows. His ears still screamed with their whispers of debts and deals and bargaining. He could still feel the white-hot pain of the eternal suffering.

Then the sound of hurried footsteps cut through his nightmare. The fog of sleep cleared from his mind, and he finally saw his surroundings for what they truly were; a clean, white hospital with flowers and abstract paintings. It was still dark, though a different kind of dark to his dream. This was the darkness of the early morning, when the birds aren't yet singing and the people aren't yet awake.

He quietened. The word became a mere murmur, and then stopped altogether. Still the footsteps drew closer.

His door swung open, and in strode Doctor Novak. He seemed out of breath, as if he had been running. No - he had been running. He looked as though he was ready to attack something, ready to fight whatever had caused his patient to wake up screaming. When faced with a room empty except for Dean, however, his face dropped in relief.

But when he saw the terror and pain still lingering on Dean's face, Doctor Novak became a picture of worry.

"Dean?" He said softly, in that low, quiet voice of his, "What happened?"

That simple question seemed to cover a whole range of topics. Dean, why are you suddenly screaming? Dean, why were you shouting the word 'Sammy' over and over and over again? ... Dean, what happened to you?

Dean shook his head. He didn't want to relive his dream. He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to have to explain it. Some old part of his instinct muttered that he needed to keep this quiet, that he needed to lock this particular scene away.

And that, in itself, was confusing. Had he had this dream before, then? Because that was all it could be. A dream. But it felt so real, so vivid...?

And who, or what, was Sammy?

Dean shook his head again. He wanted the thoughts in his head to just stop. Of course, they wouldn't. But he wanted them to.

 

Doctor Novak didn't seem to know what to do with himself. He stood by Dean's bed for a minute or so, just watching Dean watch the blank space of wall in front of him.

"Dean..." He said, and paused. Then he tried again, "Dean, you don't have to tell me anything. I know this is incredibly difficult for you. I can't even... begin to imagine what it must be like. But if you tell me when you start remembering things, or when you start having dreams that seem far too real to just be dreams, I... I can help."

Dean was surprised to find a heavy lump settling in his throat. This didn't feel like him - but then, Doctor Novak did kind of have that effect.

He took a deep breath, and sniffed roughly.

"Doc, you seem great, but I don't think even you could help."

"Try me."

They looked at each other for a few minutes, and green met blue. Dean could feel himself glaring a little, trying to ward off any attempts at making him share what had happened in the dream. He expected Novak to try and use a stern, doctor-y look. On the contrary, Novak seemed to be making an effort to appear gentle and soft. Something about it seemed unnatural, like he was used to looking big and powerful and strong.

Eventually, Dean surrendered with a sigh.

"Fine. You win," he said, "You might as well sit down. This could take some time."

Novak hesitated and hovered for a second, before moving to draw up the visiting chair that sat in the corner of the room. Dean rolled his eyes again, and took a deep breath.

"Look, you won't be able to hear me properly from over there, and I don't plan on shouting this out to the whole ward," Dean thought for a second, and then gestured to his bed, "You can sit here."

Dean shuffled a bit so that there was room for him to sit, but still Novak hesitated.

"Come on, don't just stand there like a lemon. Don't worry, I'm sure this doesn't violate some doctor-patient code."

"Lemons don't have legs and therefore can't stand. Since when was 'like a lemon' an adequate description for how a human being is acting?" Novak frowned a little, confused. But then he obediently came and sat down on Dean's bed.

(Dean couldn't help a small thrill go through him when their eyes met again. Much closer this time, as well. Then he remembered what he was supposed to be telling Novak about, and thoughts of his dream were enough to sober him up.)

"I have these dreams. Nightmares. I've had them ever since I woke up in here, and they're... horrific. They usually repeat for a few nights, and then change. It's like every week there's a new episode of some messed up horror show that my brain wants to show me."

"What sort of things happen in your dreams?"

They were getting close to the danger zone now. If he told a doctor that he was having nightmares about ghosts and demons and spirits and salt and shit like that, surely he'd spend the rest of his life in a mental hospital.

But there was... something about Novak. Something that said he didn't scare easy. Fuck it, thought Dean.

"Monsters. The kind from the most terrifying stories, only they're real. Or, in my dreams they are. And... I think I hunt them."

"You... Think you hunt monsters?" Novak's tone wasn't mocking, or shocked, or incredulous. In fact, it was almost... Hopeful?

"In my dreams, yeah... But there's so much death. I keep seeing people dying, Doc. They die and there's never anything I can do to stop it."

Dean looked down at his hands folded in his lap, ashamed of the misery swelling in his chest. After a few seconds, a hand reached out and gently touched his shoulder for a second.

"It's okay, Dean," Novak said simply. He gave Dean some time to regain his composure, then continued, "If you feel up to telling me... What happened tonight?"

"I was... I was dead. In Hell," as Dean said the words, he knew immediately that they were true, "In one of my... other dreams, I saw this guy die. I don't know how I knew him, but I did and I loved him. So I made a deal with a... demon or some shit like that, and the guy came back... But then I had to pay back my debt, and tonight I was bleeding and screaming, and..."

Dean's voice gave out. He had no words left to describe what had happened. He looked up at Doctor Novak, and saw the look on his face... He wasn't looking at Dean; he was staring out of the window by the bed. And it wasn't a look of horror or confusion. It was a look of hollow pain and twisted longing and grief and understanding...

Dean felt the sudden urge to reach out, to comfort them both and to touch Novak's face and feel his hair, and.... But that was ridiculous. He caught his breath, and made do with explaining himself.

"I'm not mad, Doc. I'm not crazy," Dean whispered, though it sounded very much like something a crazy person might say. After a while, Novak tore his gaze away from the window, and instead looked at him. The look in his eyes had softened, but it was still there. A sad smile lingered on his lips for a moment, before it was erased and replaced with a cool, detached line. But still the look remained.

"No. You're not crazy, Dean," Novak said. He looked almost as though he wanted to say more, but instead went on, "What are your dreams like? Are they... Do they feel real?"

"So real. When they're happening, I don't know that they are dreams. And when I wake up it takes time for me to separate from them and remember where I am."

"Like just now, for example. You woke up screaming 'Sammy', and didn't know where you were."

The casual mention of the word that seemed so much more than a name jolted through Dean like a lightning bolt.

"I don't know who Sammy is," he said, half to convince himself. He didn't know a Sammy. Did he?

"Are you sure? What about... What about the man you mentioned?"

Images shot into Dean's brain. The boy with laughing eyes and a bright, easy smile. The kid with brown hair in desperate need of a haircut, and pleading eyes longing to save and be saved. Scared of clowns, understanding, kind, messed up but still good...

A full name hovered on the tip of Dean's tongue, and he closed his eyes in pain. He didn't want to remember. He didn't want to think of all those who he had lost. 

A sob worked it's way into his throat, and he lowered his head.

Sammy...

"It's okay," Doctor Novak murmured, and once again rested a hand on Dean's shoulder. Only this time he didn't let go.

Dean didn't look up or even open his eyes, but still he continued, in a voice thick and heavy.

"I'm not crazy. I'm not. These are just dreams, aren't they? None of it ever really happened. Right?"

"Of course. Monsters and ghosts and demons... They don't exist, Dean," Novak's voice seemed to crack, but maybe that was just his imagination. When he continued, he had regained composure and seemed stronger, "Often people invent things to fill the gaps left by the memories they've lost. Sometimes, anything - any pain, any death - is better than the blank extent of nothingness. Your dreams are just dreams. Very vivid dreams though, I'll give you that."

Dean finally looked up, and managed the smallest of smiles.

"This just got real deep real fast, Doc."

Doctor Novak nodded and stretched. He looked over at the old clock on the wall.

"It's 3am, Dean. I would recommend some sleep, as you didn't have the healthiest night of rest."

"You want me to sleep? ... I'll only have more nightmares," Dean said. He didn't want to feel himself die again.

"I'll stay here, and watch over you. I won't let the nightmares get to you."

"Don't you need to sleep too?"

"I'm a doctor. I don't sleep," Novak smiled gently, "So I'll stay here, and chase any dreams away."

It should have sounded mocking, or the weirdest nice offer ever. Dean should have felt like an embarrassed small child. But it was 3am and Dean was in hospital with no solid memory of anything. And if anyone could keep the nightmares away, it was probably Doctor Novak.

Dean rolled over, expecting a long awkward silence as he attempted the impossible - going back to sleep in the early morning after a nightmare.

But he felt Novak pat his head once gently, and then drowsiness spread over him like a warm blanket. He could feel himself sinking into the suddenly incredibly comfortable hospital bed, and his eyes started to close. His mind tried fighting against it, but at the same time there was nothing remotely threatening about the soft lull of sleep, and he was so tired... So, so tired...

 

Doctor Novak sat on Dean's bed for several hours, just watching him as if fascinated by the sleeping daze that encased his mind. Novak didn't read or take out a phone to pass the time. He had promised to watch over Dean Winchester, and so that's exactly what he did.

He only left reluctantly, when light filtered through the window and he started hearing the nurses stirring.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares, nurses, and a visit from a mildly intoxicated Novak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, an update! Sorry, school's been quite busy and I've actually been doing stuff and going outside and it's been weird but yeah here is the next chapter!
> 
> Enjoy xxx

_Static. Loud tv static. A buzzing. A high pitch wail so shrill it broke all glass in the area. Communications from some world above, transmitting right into Dean's head._

_A barn. High ceilings, swinging lights, a storm raging outside trying to get in. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting for what? Waiting for something. Dean doesn't know, and so he waits._

_Time seems to slow as the doors bust open and the lights explode and the world seems to crash down in slow motion. Dean is transfixed, staring at this figure on the threshold. He feels a lurch deep inside of him, as if his very soul is crying out in some knowledge of events long since past. He strains his eyes, and yet cannot seem to focus on the face of the stranger. The details blur, fade, buzz with the sound of angelic static._

_Trenchcoat scorched. Navy tie wonky and not quite straight. Eyes blue and piercing._

_Eyes blue like the colour of the sky._

_Eyes blue like the colour of the sea._

_Eyes blue like the colour of electricity passing between two hearts._

_Eyes blue like the feeling of love, almost forgotten but never quite lost._

_"I... am an angel of the lord... I am..."_

 

"Dean!" 

Dean awoke to the rough feeling of hands gripping him. As the faces looming above him morphed from his blue-eyed angel into a group of concerned nurses, he shook their protesting prods away.

"Sorry Dean, sweetie, we brought you breakfast and you weren't waking up. After hearing about your nightmares, we wanted to make sure you were okay."

The nurses smiled at him and gestured to a tray of the same old boring breakfast. He didn't grin back.

"Where's Doctor Novak?"

After weeks of waking up to the kind face watching over him whenever he woke up, after so much time in such a familiar and comfortable routine, the Doctor's absence shocked through him like being plunged in icy water. This latest dream had not been the worst so far, God no, but he could still use having Novak by his side.

The sunbeam smiles faded from the nurses' eyes. They exchanged glances.

"He's not here today, honey. We think he's a bit under the weather."

"You think? Hasn't he told you?"

"Well... he hasn't rung in to say... But that's just our Doctor Novak through and through, isn't it?"

At her simpering tone, Dean clenched his fists. Then he wondered why he was clenching his fists, and had to make an actual physical effort to stop.

"Uh... Yeah."

"Now, eat your breakfast dear. I'm sure Doctor Novak will be in tomorrow."

The nurses grouped together and moved on to the next room, like a flock of migrating birds. Or a swarm of bees, with their honeyed tones and their stinging smiles. They were nice people, but this wasn't a nice environment.

Dean took a bite of toast that tasted like cardboard and a slurp of tea that tasted like lukewarm milk. Hospital food at it's finest.

 

The day passed without much event. More nurses came in as time went by, and a doctor who was filling in for Novak. He said the usual; Dean was doing well, with little physical injury left. They still wanted to keep him in until they could fully assess the after effects of his coma and pneumonia, and of course until he was recovered from his case of amnesia. This doctor was very dull, with greying hair and eyes tinged with the wrinkles of age. Needless to say, Dean didn't have any discussions with him about his dreams.

And still Dean couldn't get the phantom thought of those blue eyes out of his head. Were they Novak's? There was almost no question about it - though the expression held within them seemed different. This "angel's" eyes were the sea during a storm; wild, powerful, deadly, with waves and layers of turbulent emotion, and depths hidden so deep they were almost forgotten. Many a shipwreck lay in the heart of those eyes. But Novak's? They were warm and strong, like the sky that comes after a storm; after all the thunder and rain, they were a sigh of relief. New, but not healed.

When it came to lights out, Dean started worrying. Waking up without Novak had been like being jolted awake by a bucket of water. Dean was reluctant to sleep - God only knew what horrors he would be shown tonight. The same dream, with the barn and the eyes and the words he ached to hear, broken by the harsh static? Or something different, something progressively worse?

Only time would tell.

Someone came round and flicked off Dean's light. Darkness fell on the building, and with it settled the suffocating blanket of silence. Dean strained his eyes to see, staring at the 'modern' 'abstract' painting on his wall. The shapes seemed to move, to morph into monsters, the way all objects do in the heart of night when you're all alone. Dean blinked, rubbed his eyes. When he opened them, the demons in the painting were fading away. Replacing them was a figure by his bed.

Instinct fought reason, and in a flash he was up. He shoved the humanoid shape into the wall, and pulled a plastic knife from his pocket. He'd kept it from dinner for reasons unknown - it felt like the right thing to do. His hand moved so the knife rested against the intruder's neck, even though he knew it could never do much damage.

"Dean."

Doctor Novak. Of course. Of fucking course it was Doctor Novak who he was shoving against a wall and threatening with plastic cutlery.

"Oh."

The blue eyes. This time they were mere inches away from Dean's. The black hair. Tousled and wavy and perfect.

"Dean," Novak repeated. 

"Oh. Right. Yeah."

Dean awkwardly let Novak go and walked over to the light switch for something to do. He silently cringed as he moved. Sure, he'd... daydreamed about shoving Novak against a wall. But like this? No.

"So, Doc. What can I do for you?" 

Dean flicked on the lights, and Novak winced. It was only then that his full appearance could be clearly seen.

His lip was swollen and cut. Blood trickled from his nose like a stream at the top of a mountain. He looked like standing up hurt him, but he was determined to stay upright. He looked like a soldier; injured, but still always ready for the next battle.

"Christ, Novak. What the hell happened to you?"

Novak gave a half-smile, then grimaced as if even that small action caused him pain.

"You could say that."

"What?"

"It's a long story."

Novak near collapsed onto Dean's bed, and Dean sat down heavily too, with a hand on the doctor's shoulder to steady him.

"First things first, what happened and are you okay?"

"Never mind me, Dean. How are you?"

"Me? Absolutely brilliant. Now back to you, please."

"I... Got mugged. That's a thing that happens, isn't it? Why do people rob and hurt and steal from other people, Dean?"

"Well I don't know, Doc," Dean said, trying to sound soothing and not at all weirded out by what was happening.

"If I were human-"

"What?"

"I mean if I were in such a bad state that I had no money, I wouldn't steal. Because yes I would be in a better and more stable financial place if I did steal, but at what cost to the other person?"

"Um... Doc, are you drunk or high or something?"

"High? How can I be high when I can't fly? I have no wings. I am entirely human."

"Uh, right. My mistake. You drunk then?"

"I may have found a liquor store. And I may have drunk it."

"Okay, buddy. You'd better sleep this one off, I think. I'll wake you up when the nurses start making noises in the morning," Dean tried to gently force Novak under the covers on the bed, but he shook them off and stood up.

"No, Dean. You have to get better, so you have to rest. I'll sit in the chair... And keep watch."

"What is it with you and watching me sleep?"

But Dean eventually had to cave to Novak. He was, after all, the intoxicated yet well-educated doctor in this situation. Dean curled up in bed, and soon found himself drifting off to the soft occasional hiccups of Doctor Novak.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is getting worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: if people not eating and not being happy etc upsets you, then here is your warning that that's basically the summary of this chapter
> 
> Anyway HUGE APOLOGIES FOR THE MASSIVELY LATE UPDATE I AM AN AWFUL PERSON BUT OH WELL HERE IT IS
> 
> (also this chapter is pretty short and tbh I'm not overall too happy with this fic but I am going to finish it even if it kills me)

Dean's dreams this time followed no chronological story. He was used to crystal-sharp flashes of scenes and clear emotions - not this swirling, psychedelic sea of a thousand different thoughts and feelings. It was horrific, it was terrifying; it was like being a child in the middle of the night, when the most innocent of shapes morph to become monsters under the bed and skeletons in the closet. Nothing is ever the same in the dark, and more than once Dean saw those familiar yet different blue eyes staring out at him from his dreams.

He woke up, feeling a hundred different emotions flood him. But more than anything else, he was tired. So sick of waking up in the middle of the night and day after nightmares. So exhausted with having only dreams to hang onto. So tired of not remembering.

Dean was stopping eating.

He never are that much in the first place, but now he was going to extreme lengths to avoid it. He didn't exactly know why, but eating just seemed so pointless and a waste of time. Food wouldn't bring his memories back. At least when he was asleep, he could gain tiny snippets of detail so vivid they could only be fact.

Dean hardly saw Doctor Novak any more.

He slept a lot during the day and night. He closed his eyes with a kind of sick excitement for whatever horrors he was about to witness; it terrified him, but he needed those dreams.

He only saw Novak when he woke up screaming, and even then he would refuse to talk about what he had seen.

Dean was slowly starting to lose his hope.

 

Doctor Novak, however, was determined not to let this happened

 

"Dean. How are you?"

It had been one of those days where the thick grey clouds seem to seep and blend in with the land. Everything is dull and lightless; it's not bitterly cold, but it's not warm enough to relax. The world seems to be bleak and tired. The rain doesn't quite fall, and yet the birds don't sing either. Dean personally would trade a hurricane for the blank expanse of forgetting that calls itself the sky any day.

But now it was 2am, after a nightmare, and Dean wanted to be anywhere but here.

"I'm fine."

Dean was not fine.

"Really? Dean, the nurses have told me that you barely touch your food anymore, and that you don't seem to have much motivation."

Dean could barely shrug. He felt like a small child; he felt belittled, he felt stupid, he felt like he was wrong to dare to even exist. And at the same time he didn't really give a shit.

"Dean, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

Something crossed Novak's face. Anger, pain, fear, hurt - all bundled into one. Dean was lying, and he knew it immediately. He just wanted to make everything okay, but he didn't have that power. Not anymore.

"Don't lie to me," was all Novak could manage.

"I'm not," said Dean. His voice was lower, plainer, more hollow than before. He was tired.

"For the love of God, Dean, tell the fucking truth. You're not okay, and you haven't been for a long time. But it's gonna get better soon, alright? However, you have to admit that you aren't okay, not right now."

Dean just looked right through Novak as if he didn't see him.

And that's what did it for Novak. For a while now, he'd been going back and forth between gentle, concerned doctor and angry, irrational... Friend? But not any more.

"Don't you care any more? Don't you want to get better? I know your life before you came here had so much pain in it - I know, okay? But those memories are a part of you, and you have to want them back. Please, Dean. Don't give up. I know you, and I know that you never give up. You always look for some stupid, self-sacrificing, ridiculous way to make it work. You're Dean fucking Winchester."

Maybe it was the change in Novak's voice; now low and angry and raw.

Maybe it was the way he spoke with such passion and pain.

Maybe it was the fact that he claimed to know so much about Dean, and yet hadn't even known him for long enough...

Whatever it was, Dean's vision suddenly snapped back into clarity. Novak's breathing was fast and shallow, as if he had just run a marathon; he looked angry and sullen, but also afraid. Dean's own heartbeat started to speed up.

Looking back, even Dean didn't know exactly what he had been about to do. He was either about to kiss Novak as hard as he could, or beat the shit out of him. But he didn't make it.

Dean stood up for the first time in days; he went up quickly, in a rush of adrenaline. But the blood rushed to his head, and he was only upright for a few seconds before he went down again. Onto the floor this time, into the inky blackness of unwanted, unplanned sleep.

 

_A trench coat. In a barn where sparks flew and and a shocking revelation was given. A friend was introduced as an enemy, and the blue eyes frowned coolly and revealed nothing._

_A dirty white hospital uniform. A stony lakeshore where an angel knelt with his head in his hands. Two friends reunited, and the feelings couldn't be denied any longer. The blues eyes felt like coming home, and Dean wanted to spend the rest of his life staring at them._

_Two hands clasped in a moment of peace when everything else is rushing around. The angel is the human's anchor; the human is trying to take them both to safety. A word is shared and passed between them. "Go."_

 

Dean woke up, sweating. He was still on the cool floor of his hospital room, but his head was elevated, lying on a pillow of human legs. A face hovered above him, and blue eyes looked down at him.

Those blue eyes.

His blue eyes.

"Castiel," Dean said finally, tasting the name on his tongue. It felt right, it felt good to say it out loud. 

But Novak just looked at him with shock and a speechless kind of amazed horror.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Last Chapter: memories and feelings resurface

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go

Novak helped Dean sit up, and leant him against the side of his bed, before reaching over to the bedside table, and handing him some water and a biscuit from a plate. He sat back down next to Dean, their shoulders touching and their breaths in unison.

Dean took a sip of water, and then took the biscuit in trembling hands. One bite, and one sip, and one bite, and one sip... He started to feel a little stronger.

"Dean..."

"Castiel."

Novak winced slightly, and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, and continued.

"Dean-"

"Castiel."

"Can I finish please?"

Dean didn't ever want to stop saying the name, he didn't ever want to lose this little piece of memory that he had.

"Sorry."

"Dean, I want you to tell me about your dreams. I want you to tell me what you... remember. Okay? Can you do that for me?"

Novak's voice was soft and gentle and hurt but healing. He sounded like he didn't want to believe what was happening, like he wanted to be absolutely sure before he put all his hopes and expectations up.

"Okay," Dean took a deep breath, and thought back, "I have these dreams, that are so horrifying and terrifying that at first I thought that they could never be true. About monsters and ghosts and demons and Heaven and Hell and everything in between. About humans and... angels. I thought they were just dreams, just my imagination trying to fill a hole. But they aren't, are they?"

"Tell me more. What do you remember?"

Novak's voice seemed more urgent, pressing for more and more.

"My name is Dean Winchester. I have a brother, called Sam Winchester. Our mother died in a fire when we were really young. My father died a few years ago, and he died to bring me back. I made a deal with a demon, to bring back Sam when he died. I went to Hell. And... I was brought back, by an angel named Castiel. That's you, isn't it? I know it is-"

Dean's voice started rising: he just wanted to know that he had Castiel back again.

"Carry on with what you know," said Novak, but his tone was quieter, as if he didn't have the heart to truly reprimand Dean.

"Castiel brought me back from the dead, and then... I don't know the details, but we ended up somewhere a few years later... A forest, filled with all the monsters I have ever seen and killed, and more. Castiel was with me, we were trying to get out, but we didn't know if he'd be able to get out too. We found a way, but... He didn't make it. He didn't... want... want to make it."

Dean had to fight to regain his composure, and he looked at Novak with pleading, desperate eyes.

"Please," he whispered, "Is it you? Are you here?"

 

Novak looked down at the floor for a few seconds as if finding the words, and when he looked up again, something was different. The eyes - the same blue, the same shape, but different. They were filled with such power, such authority, such wisdom. They had lived for centuries, had seen so much, but they looked at Dean Winchester as if they could never get enough, and as if they would be content to stay looking at him for as long as they were both alive.

They weren't Doctor Novak's eyes. In fact, there was never any person called Doctor Novak. There was only Castiel, and his disguise.

"Castiel?"

"Hello, Dean."

That voice. That deep, powerful voice that was completely unmistakeable. A wide, wide smile worked it's way onto Dean's face.

"You know, you usually call me Cas," Cas said with a smile that was so, so sad and so, so happy. Dean's eyes filled with unashamed tears, and he launched himself into the angel's embrace.

They stayed entwined on the hospital bed for as long as they needed to, and when they broke apart, they stayed as close as possible.

"If it was you the whole time, Cas, why didn't you just say?" Dean said finally. He made sure his voice didn't sound sullen or angry - how could he be angry, when he had Cas back?

"I wanted to, I really did. When I got out of Purgatory, and I finally found you... I wanted to heal you as fast as possible. You were in a coma, and I nearly woke you up and told you everything. But something stopped me. I don't honestly know why. I couldn't just never see you again, though. So I invented Doctor Novak, and created the necessary papers and qualifications. I... Manipulated the minds of those that I needed to, so that they would take me on as a doctor. That way I could tend to you, and watch over you as much as I wanted.

"I never intended to see you once you awoke. I heard the news that you were conscious but unable to remember anything, and I considered leaving. But it didn't feel right. And so I stayed, and became your doctor. I thought about healing you again when I saw you, but as you know I didn't."

Cas paused for a minute, as though he didn't know what to say. Dean waited for him, and then prompted him.

"Why?"

Cas sighed, and looked up at him.

"Because how could I do that to you? Why did I have the right to bring you so much pain and hurt and death to deal with? Why did I get to be selfish? No, I couldn't deal with it. Besides - you needed time to rest, to recover. If I had brought back your memories, you would only have rushed out to continue hunting. I couldn't do that to you."

Dean nodded, and then a thought occurred to him.

"Can you bring them back now? My memories?"

Cas looked over to the wall. He didn't seem to want to answer, didn't want to say it. 

"I can."

"... And will you?"

"Dean, do you want them back? Really? Do you want to remember all of that? The pain. The death. The guilt. Your family... Your parents... They're dead. Do you want to remember them?"

Dean had never been more sure of anything in his life.

"Yes. I do."

"But I could give you a new life, new memories. I could set you up somewhere far away, and give you a family. You could be happy, truly happy. And you wouldn't remember a thing, I promise. No more hunting, no more monsters. No more heaven and hell. You'd be safe."

"No, Cas. Who'd save the world if I wasn't here? Why are you so desperate to get rid of me, anyway?"

Cas' mouth twitched at one corner; he looked like he was hearing a joke that no one else could understand. But before he could share the punch line, Dean asked a more answerable question.

"Have you seen Sam?"

"I travelled over to see him before I found you. He didn't know, of course. He's got a dog, and a girlfriend."

"He's happy?"

"Yes. You don't have to take care of him anymore, Dean. You could have your own life."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Would you stop that already? You're not erasing my memories.... And I'm not leaving you again."

Cas wanted to cave in, to bring back Dean's memories straight away. But he didn't want to be selfish; he needed to resist for as long as he could.

"Dean, please. You could be safe, permanently safe. You could be happy-"

"I'm happy here. I'm happy with you."

Somewhere along the way, their hands entwined. It was so much like the last time they had done that, but at the same time so different.

"Cas, buddy..."

_I love you._

"I..."

_I love you._

"I need you."

_I love you._

 

Dean didn't need to say it out loud, in the end. Cas already knew. Their bodies pulled closer and closer, their eyes were fixed on one another. And then, in a rush of feeling, their lips touched in a gentle stroke. Like water spilling over the brim of a glass, they pressed closer and closer, and closer and closer. Their embrace grew more passionate, and-

Memories. An entire flood of them, flowing like a river right into Dean's mind. Mary Winchester, John Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Charlie Bradbury, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Kevin Tran, Gabriel... Angels, demons, humans, vampires, werewolves... Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, Earth... Memories.

The joy of remembering is so great that Dean laughed aloud into the kiss. He remembers, he remembers, he remembers!

_Healed with a kiss._

 

-

 

"He should be here soon," Cas said, as the wind whipped through their hair. They were stood outside the hospital building, waiting. Their hands were held together as though it was nothing.

Dean didn't know how Cas managed to convince the hospital staff that Dean was well enough to be let out overnight, or how he managed to procure some Dean-style clothes in a few minutes ("it's plaid, Dean, it isn't exactly too difficult to come by!") but he didn't really care.

Dean tried to ignore the nerves in his stomach. It was going to be okay. It was going to be okay. It was going to be okay.

They heard the car before they saw it. The beautiful '67 Chevy Impala roaring down the road, leaving a trail of dust in her wake. It grew closer and closer, before pulling to a stop in front of them.

The man in the drivers seat smiled at both of them, and his eyes rested particularly on Dean. Long brown hair that needed a trim, warm brown eyes that twinkled with pure happiness. Dean smiled back at the memories of all the times he'd seen that particular grin on that particular face.

They opened up the doors, and got into the car.

"Let's go home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah!! Did I just finally finish writing this fic? Hells yeah I did!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed xxx


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